


Zombies, Magic, and Deductions! Oh My!

by SwimmingBird



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Crack, Deduction!, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Or Is It?, WIP, crackiness, magic!, post reichenbach fall, the end of days!, zombies!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingBird/pseuds/SwimmingBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fan-fic based on a really weird dream I had. I do not claim to have writing skills that could be ever described as good. At this time, this fan-fic has not been brit-picked.<br/>As you can guess from the tags, this is an adventure involving our favorite detectives (Sherlock and John) trying to solve the curious case of the zombie horde that threatens to cause the collapse of society and the fall of humanity as we know it! (And because dreams are weird) our friendly Norse Avenger (Thor) is assisting them in trying to stop the undead from ravaging the planet!<br/>Will they find out who is behind this dastardly deed?<br/>Why is Thor even in this story?<br/>Will our heroes succeed?<br/>Will humanity fall?<br/>Read to find out!</p><p> This has been beta-ed by The_Silent_One. Many thanks to her for doing so!</p><p>Oh! By the way I own nothing!  (Gosh I wish I did, because, wouldn't that be neat?)<br/>The World of Sherlock Holmes in all its various variations, does not belong to me. This is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, Gatiss's, and Moffat's sandbox, I'm just playing in it. All credit goes to those who deserve it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (Note: I'm a grad student, not one specializing in creative writing, so this will be slow in coming. If you have nifty ideas or helpful critiques, it would be delightful for you share them. Please be kind, this is my first attempt ever at fan fiction!)

A tall man with curly hair slammed himself against wall, kitty-corner to the long hallway he just ran down. He was soon followed by a shorter man with blonde-grey hair. The blonde shoved the tall man over, “Move over, Sherlock" he whispered quietly, failing miserably at doing so as he was still trying to catch his breath from his chasing after the taller man. "Shhhhhh!" the curly haired man directed to the shorter man "John, do you want them to hear us?!"

John made an annoyed sigh of desperation. ' _Of course it's my bloody fault_ ,' thought John. This cluster-fuck of a situation started with an odd case they took on six months ago involving a sickness that turned perfectly normal human beings into flesh-hungry monsters. John and Sherlock left the safety of Baker Street under the request of the British Government (aka Mycroft, Sherlock's oft meddlesome brother) to go to South Africa to see who was responsible for inflicting this, dare he say it, Zombie Plague on the world.


	2. The Story Continues!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's rewind a bit to see where this strange story begins!

Six Months Earlier…

It was quiet in 221B Baker Street. The TV was on a low volume, set to the BBC. A young newscaster was reporting about a strange epidemic spreading through South Africa. Sherlock quickly filed this information in the circular file of his mind palace.

_Boring. This so called “pandemic” is likely nothing more than a H1N1 like scare._

He heard John puttering around in the kitchen.

_Oh, good, maybe he’ll make me some tea._

Sherlock rapidly settled back into the monotony of his endless, all-consuming boredom.

“Sherlock, did you use all the milk again?”

It’s been a week since John moved back into Baker Street, they have already transitioned back into their old routine, almost.

Sherlock remained silent, not even being bothered to grunt in response. Still, he was stylishly draped over the couch in artful repose.

It’s been 3 months since Sherlock’s (as he referred to it) “Glorious Resurrection” and it has been exactly that long since John landed a splendidly executed haymaker on Sherlock’s face, leaving him with a bloody nose.

“Really, Sherlock, you are a grown man…”

Sherlock expertly tuned out the rest of John’s rant. The word “Boring” repeatedly going through his mind like a news line on a gaudy marquee in Times Square.

“You’re not even bloody listening, are you?! So Fucking Typical!”  


Sherlock let out a dramatic and breathy sigh.

_Don’t you understand the effort that goes into being this dramatically bored John?_

“What the actual fuck, Sherlock?! Dramatically Bored?!”

_Shit, I said that aloud?_

“Yes, you git!”

_Oh…_

“Maybe you’ll be reinstated soon…”

“It’s been three months. Three months of Endless Boredom, Three months without a proper case.  
The Work, John! How did you even function without the Work for three years John?”

From Sherlock’s position on the couch, he could hear the shattering sound of a teacup against the wall and an unearthly screech, then nothing but loud labored breaths.

John stomped into the living room where Sherlock (who finally stirred from his utter boredom) laid his eyes upon a very angry, barely restrained Ex-Army Doctor.

“Listen here you total prick” Thrusting his index finger in Sherlock’s direction as if it were a long rapier that could do Sherlock considerable harm rather than the piece of skin, muscle, bone, and tissue, that in the best case scenario bruise Sherlock (not at this distance of 1 meter away.)

“You died, you were gone, I found a way to move on, to cope. Yes, it was difficult losing my best friend and the adventuring, but I dealt with it. I found other outlets. I had a paintballing group. I dated. I mourned you, I missed you, but I kept going.  
You seriously believe that the worst thing was losing the Work?! The worst thing was losing you!”

Sherlock was moved but this sudden outburst. “John….I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

John took a deep breath.

“Sherlock, I know, it’s fine, I know.”

John rubbed his eyes, feeling emotionally drained from the short outburst.

“I’ll just clean up and then I’ll go for a walk. I just need to clear my head.”

John calmly walked into the kitchen to retrieve the broom and dustpan to clean up the shards of the broken teacup.  


Sherlock slumped back onto the couch as John went about cleaning, when there was a knock on the door…


	3. Who's At The Door?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Story Continues!

 “Hello, Brother Dear.”  
“Mycroft” Sherlock snarled.

John had just finished tidying up the kitchen when he heard that familiar voice of the British Government.

_Fuck a duck, now Sherlock will be in a strop for days. Goddammit Mycroft._

When John emerged from the kitchen he was met with the usual Holmes non-verbal communication. It was like an American Wild West standoff, quickly turning into a Mexican standoff with the addition of John.

Mycroft quickly swept his eyes over John, from tip to toe. John hated these “deduction scans” from Mycroft. John gave him a death stare to answer his Holmes greeting.

“Hello Mycroft.”

“Hello, John, taking out your anger on innocent dishware? Truly, John, you should have more constructive ways to express your anger.”

Mycroft redirected his attention back to the younger Holmes.

“Sherlock.”

“No.”

“You’re being a child.”

“I don’t care, Mycroft, whatever Queen and country non-sense you are peddling, I’m not interested. Shouldn’t you be focused on my reinstatement? God forbid a tainted Consulting Detective sully the pristine reputation of the British Government.”

Mycroft took a deep audible breath, John was quickly reminded of his own reaction to Sherlock’s bratty behavior and had a minor feeling of repulsion to comparing himself to Mycroft.

Mycroft breathed out, summoning all his patience to deal with his ornery brother.

“Your reinstatement should be happening within the hour, Moriarty being real, Richard Brook being a fake, your methods and crime solving being valid, everything.  
Now, will you listen to what I have to say?”

Sherlock’s surprise and graciousness for Mycroft’s efforts flashed across his face, fleeting as it was and Mycroft was happy. He was euphoric he was able to both cause that reaction and see it come to fruition. As quickly it appeared, it faded into smugness.

“Well, now. I guess I have an opening in my schedule to hear about the government’s problem, do sit down.”

John and Mycroft made a move to sit down in the living room. John sat in his own chair, Mycroft in Sherlock’s.

Mycroft started “Have you been watching the news as of late?”

“Boring.”

“Sherlock! You said you would listen to him,” John interjected.

“John, with an opening like that, the case does not sound promising. Something so mundane that it is reported on the BBC.”

Mycroft continued “They are keeping many significant details from the general public.”

“Fine, go on,” Sherlock muttered.

“Thank you. There has been a major pandemic that threatens to start the crumbling of civilization as we know it. Much is unknown about it, the best scientific minds are at work to learn about it and how to eradicate it. I know you ran into things…let’s say…of an unusual nature while performing pest control for Moriarty’s web. I need both of you to go to South Africa and investigate the disease. There may be some sort of foul play involved. I've been contacted by certain government agencies indicating something of unnatural nature may be causing this.”

“Why aren’t you and your specialized personnel taking care of this?” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because Britain must prepare for the worst, the United States already has started putting their quarantine plan into action. And, Brother mine, I need someone who I know is competent and who I can trust to investigate this. Will you both go?”

Mycroft directed his attention to John, “Your various past experiences will be integral in this case.”

Mycroft did not wait for an answer from either of the other men before continuing, “You will have access to limitless funds, compliments of the British Government. All I ask is for you to get to the bottom of this and stop whatever-whoever is responsible.”

As if it was the largest burden in the world, like Atlas with the globe on his shoulders, Sherlock exhaled “Fine. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you, brother dear. I’ve booked you both on the morning flight to Johannesburg, South Africa in two days’ time. Please do get to the flight on time and try not to cause a ruckus on the plane, your disturbances do upset Mummy.”

Mycroft rose from his seat and left the flat, soon after Sherlock sprang up from his ridiculous pose on the couch and approached John, both arms stretched out grabbing John by the shoulders and shaking them.

“Mysterious illness, possible world ending implications, not much to go on! John! The Game Is On!”  
……


End file.
